Shake A Towerhttps://shakeatower.wordpress.com
Mon, 19 Mar 2018 00:29:35 +0000enhourly1http://wordpress.com/https://s2.wp.com/i/buttonw-com.pngShake A Towerhttps://shakeatower.wordpress.com
protect and servehttps://shakeatower.wordpress.com/2016/07/14/protect-and-serve/
https://shakeatower.wordpress.com/2016/07/14/protect-and-serve/#commentsThu, 14 Jul 2016 18:35:47 +0000http://shakeatower.wordpress.com/?p=670Read More]]>One day, a small town farm girl from Minnesota, mother of a small baby and three year old, a woman with a demanding job, was told that her husband had quit his job as a successful property manager to pursue dreams of becoming a police officer. Up and quit. She was told he would paint houses while he was in the Police Academy and that he would make things work. She said, “I’ll worry when you worry.”
Sounds like a movie.

Well, that was my mom’s life about 18 years ago.

This morning, I came home while my mom was getting up and ready for work and considering she is not only my mother, but one of my closest friends, I decided to hang out with her instead of go back to sleep. We made breakfast, drank our morning coffee together and chatted about various happenings in the Vajgrt household. Next thing I knew, we were yelling at each other while she did her make up about police brutality and recent Black Lives Matter protests. I saw my mom in a state she normally never gets to. She was scared.

I took the liberty to do some research before I wrote this post. Well, I did a lot of research. I looked at numbers and statistics and looked at proportions and rates of all kinds. I will let you do your own research, but I have added the link to The Washington Post’s official database on its investigation on police shootings for some quick numbers. I urge you to take a quick look, educate yourselves.

Police brutality across the United States exists. It does. There is no doubt that some officers have crossed the line. Men and women who we, as Americans, have put our trust in to protect us. Some of them have made terrible decisions, reacted to situations with inappropriate actions, jumped to unfair conclusions, and have taken lives that could have been spared. It makes me sick. It isn’t right, and I fully believe officers who make these mistakes, who do not fulfill their duties as police officers to ‘Protect and Serve’ should be held accountable for their actions. Police brutality happens among all colors of skin. Police brutality is something that must end. Period.

I’ve been lucky. My dad, Officer Curt Vajgrt of the Urbandale Police Department, he’s one of the good guys. He was up for Officer of the Year this year. He was an patrolman on the street my entire childhood, a superhero in my eyes. My dad made sure to give out temporary tattoos and official Urbandale Police Officer trading cards to all my friends, and I felt really cool for the little shout-out I got on the back; “Curt enjoys his time off with his wife and two daughters.” My sister and I got to see him almost every night when he would come home, park the patrol car in the driveway and have dinner with us. After dinner, he would sit in his chair and Madelyn and I would climb on top of him, mess with his radio, twirl his hair-sprayed crew-cut, and ask to see his prayer cards he kept in his front pocket, just behind his badge. He would pull them out, St. Michael prayers and medals, and we would learn them together. After his hour break was over, he would kiss us all goodbye, get back into his car and drive off into the night.

As I got older, although I was still blind to many of the world’s problems, I began to worry about my dad. I can remember sitting in my calculus class junior year, imagining what I would do if the principal were to come down to my classroom, pull me out and tell me something terrible had happened to my dad. It wasn’t the first time the scenario had gone through my mind but it was around the time my dad had gotten a few death threats, and these anxious thoughts seemed to distract me more and more. Although my dad is a police officer in Des Moines, Iowa, a fairly safe city with a relatively low crime rate, I have first-hand seen the effect this job has. Though, my dad still wears a badge every day. He still puts on the uniform and the responsibilities that every other police officer in the United States puts on each day. He still leaves his family to ‘Protect and Serve’ yours.

So here’s your takeaway:

I have read articles and blog posts written from both sides, but being pro-police and pro-black are not two mutually exclusive ideas. They are ideas that can and should co-exist. They have to. Black men and women should not fear leaving their house, or driving their cars, or partaking in any other freedom any other American does not fear. Police officers should not fear patrolling inner-city neighborhoods, or downright refuse to patrol them, they should not fear what is on the other side of the car window. These groups of people are afraid of each other. These groups of people’s families are scared. Petrified.

Mr. Obama likes to use the term “broad brush.” He used the words in a speech on national security in 2009, at his U.N. speech in 2014 and again this past week when speaking about the recent shootings in Dallas. He is right. In order for the United States to fix many of its problems, we need to stop painting groups of people with these broad brushes. Islamic terrorists are not the same as Islamists. Criminals are not the same as people with black skin, and murderers are not the same thing as police officers.

A few days ago, mothers, who may or may not have known of their husband’s dream of becoming a police officer before marrying them, are now mothers of 7 children who experienced my calculus nightmare.

God Bless.

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]]>https://shakeatower.wordpress.com/2016/07/14/protect-and-serve/feed/1FullSizeRendercarmenvajgrt8things I’ve learned abroad – part 1: miracles do happenhttps://shakeatower.wordpress.com/2016/05/28/things-ive-learned-abroad-part-1-miracles-do-happen/
https://shakeatower.wordpress.com/2016/05/28/things-ive-learned-abroad-part-1-miracles-do-happen/#commentsSat, 28 May 2016 11:57:38 +0000http://shakeatower.wordpress.com/?p=667Read More]]>You’re probably wondering why my first blog post from my European adventure features me sitting on the ground of the Athens airport, obviously unshowered, waiting for Italian airlines to open their check in desk.

Well, because I just experienced a freaking miracle.

So it all started on Monday, May 22nd. But let’s fast forward about a week.

Bear with me.

Yesterday morning, Friday, May 27th, I was sitting at the port of Paros waiting for our ferry back to Athens when someone mentioned their lack of jackets for the more northern countries of Europe. Right then, it hit me. I hadn’t seen my own jacket since I didn’t even know when. I opened my suitcase, rifled through my stuff in the middle of the port to discover what I describe as the universe handing me a big fat “no.” I began racking my brain trying to think where I last had it. Retracing every step, trying to relive the last 5 days.

You see, this wasn’t just any jacket. This was my jacket. The one I’ve had since I was about 17. We’ve been through a lot with each other. Anyone who knows me knows this jacket. It’s coveted.

Returning to Athens for the night, I wanted to leave no stone unturned. I checked with our hotel to make sure I hadn’t left it the days before. No luck. Which lead to the previous major location on my extravaganza journey. My flight from Philadelphia to Athens.

Disgracefully, I asked my mom to call American Airlines to see if they had it. I was expecting her to be annoyed, but being the loving mother she is, said she would help me out. But considering my flight had occurred 5 days ago, I was probably, in her words, “sol.” Her quest resulted in the discover that, Athens is one of the few countries that does not participate in American Airlines’s claim system. Naturally.

So as we arrived back at the Athens airport for our flight to Rome, my mission was to check with the American Airlines ticket desk. For a jacket I lost almost a week earlier. The lady at the counter gave me a pitiful look but said she would be back in a few moments.

I began to pray to Saint Anthony. Hoping for the discovery of something once lost.

After a while, she returned. Through the frosted glass, I could see the faint outline of what she was holding. Army green with black leather sleeves. My jacket. In that moment, my heart sank in the best possible way.

As I returned to my travel group, I danced around and waved my jacket in the air. There were cheers and words of shock, as everyone knew how great I felt in that moment. Pure bliss. A freaking miracle. Especially considering these kinds of things don’t happen to me. I don’t get lucky like this.

Okay, so cool, I found a jacket. No matter the emotional worth it has to me, it is just a jacket, after all. Though, this experience meant much more to me than the return of an item of clothing.

It was just the simple reminder that little miracles do happen. Prayer does work. International airlines don’t always lose your luggage. Sometimes they find them under your seat and save them for a week.

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]]>https://shakeatower.wordpress.com/2016/05/28/things-ive-learned-abroad-part-1-miracles-do-happen/feed/1Processed with VSCO with p5 presetcarmenvajgrt8pig, or cowhttps://shakeatower.wordpress.com/2016/05/02/pig-or-cow/
https://shakeatower.wordpress.com/2016/05/02/pig-or-cow/#commentsMon, 02 May 2016 21:51:16 +0000http://shakeatower.wordpress.com/?p=655Read More]]>There will come a point in your life, or a few points in your life, where you will be given two choices. Stay, or go. Work for it, or walk away. Jump, or don’t jump. Either choice is a good choice, both will make you happy, but whichever you choose will lead you down a completely different path.

I have always been a fighter, a fake it till you make it-er. Normally, I am someone who does not give up on things easily, and I hardly ever back down from a challenge. I like to explore every angle of the situation and try every solution I can think of before one of my plans either works or I realize I truly did everything I could. I am not one to take a chance on regret.

I have dealt with anxiety for as long as I can remember. The voice in my head has always been there. Questioning everything from whether or not I locked my car door, whether or not those people are staring at me or whether or not something could happen today that turns my whole life upside-down. It has been the hundreds of scenarios that flash before my eyes when I notice a missed call on my phone, and the perception of how people interpret what I say. So, you can only imagine the list of possibilities I made as to how you, reader, might interpret this post.

But I’ve been working on it.

More recently, I have become comfortable with letting things go. I have worked on not spending so much energy on things that may or may not make a difference. I have become comfortable with risking regret, the unknowns and moving on with my life.

A professor of mine recently gave a lecture on life. It had nothing to do with advertising. He spoke on topics varying from money to respect to sex to diversity to nature and success. He basically covered 18 typical years of parenting into an hour and 15 minute presentation. And each point he made was wonderful. One thing that really stuck out to me was the quote below.

If you spend your whole life trying to save someone, well, then you just spent your whole life trying to save someone.

Fighting. It is defined as a struggle against something. When we spend our time fighting, with a person or against something, it is done in order to produce a result. It is done with hopes that it may make a difference.

But sometimes, you’re swinging with both arms and you’re so caught up in the fight that you don’t realize, the only thing your fists catch is air. There is a reason that tires you out so quickly and makes you weak. There comes a point when the fight is pointless. It would seem obvious that at that point, one would know they needed to walk away, but I’ve come to realize that in certain cases, it’s okay not to take even one, failing swing.

Now, this is not to say that struggles that have gone on for decades are not worth it. Some of the most influential people in history spent their whole lives, and died over, fighting for what they believed in. But those are not the situations I am talking about.

I am talking about when it’s okay to choose the other path. To move on. To choose not to spread yourself too thin, to choose to save your energy. Because someday, and the day is inevitable, your life on this earth will be over. Did you spend every day listening to the voice in your head, fighting and seeking every possible solution? You may have calculated the risk for every potential regret but you’re exhausted. And you probably missed the beauty of life as it passed you by. More often than not, you just have to choose. One path or the other.

You have a split second to make your decision.

So.

Pig, or cow?

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]]>https://shakeatower.wordpress.com/2016/05/02/pig-or-cow/feed/1Processed with VSCO with hb2 presetcarmenvajgrt8swimmer, swammer, swimmerhttps://shakeatower.wordpress.com/2016/03/08/swimmer-swammer-swimmer/
https://shakeatower.wordpress.com/2016/03/08/swimmer-swammer-swimmer/#commentsTue, 08 Mar 2016 20:45:55 +0000http://shakeatower.wordpress.com/?p=648Read More]]>There’s so much I want to say in this post, so many emotions and thoughts battling for my own mind’s attention that I don’t really know how to convey it to you, my reader, with out you getting lost in the depths of it all.

Many athletes, especially injured athletes, will understand what I’m talking about as they read on.

It’s taken me over two years to get back in the pool. Before a few weeks ago, I’d swam a handful of times since my senior year. When I was told I’d partially torn the labrum in my left shoulder, I was relieved. Small enough I didn’t need surgery, serious enough I could hang up my cap and goggles and move on with my life. You see, my 18 year old body had already suffered torn intercostal muscles lining my spine, I wasn’t getting much faster, my recruitment journey had lead me to schools I had no desire to spend four years of my life at, and I felt as though I was killing myself, ruining my body, over something that was never truly going to happen for me.

What I didn’t understand was that I was about to lose a part of myself that was as comparable to losing a limb. I remember my mom telling me, “I just want you to understand that once you close the door on this, it’s really going to be closed.” And that’s okay. All athletes, eventually, must move on from their sport and find who they are with out it. Well, with a little less of it. What I didn’t understand at the time was how lost and confused and lonely I’d be without the thing that had truly shaped me into who I am, what had kept me out of trouble in high school, what had given me the greatest friendships I’ve ever had, and what I was known for.

The summer before my freshman year at Mizzou, I emailed the head swim coach and asked him if he had any room for me to help out on deck or in the office as a manager. I can’t tell you how happy I was when he emailed me back and said yes. I also can’t tell you how nervous I was the first time I walked on deck during a practice to meet him. Or how nervous I was the next day when I met him in his office for a meeting on my position’s expectations. Being a team manager for one of the best collegiate swimming and diving programs in the country has been one of the greatest pleasures I’ve ever had with the sport. It’s also been one of the most conflicting.

I still remember the first time I was called a narp (non-athletic regular person). It sucked. (And for all of you thinking “sucked” isn’t a very ladylike or proper word to use, I don’t really care. Because there isn’t another word that really describes the feeling I’m trying to convey. Plus, it’s International Women’s Day and I’ll use whatever words I please). So, it sucked. Not for the reason that I wish I’d had surgery to continue training and competing, or even that I’d be able to call myself a student athlete again. It was because I have never felt like a narp. Not even during my two year hibernation away from chlorine. Maybe it’s because I truly understand how hard you have to work to be an athlete at that level, even though I’ve never experienced it myself. Or maybe it’s because I did work that hard for six years just so I could hurt myself and be forced to give it up.

I’m sitting up in my bed waiting for my chicken and rice to cook after a dip in the pool. My body is sore and my head is tired and I’m super hungry and I love it. I love being back in the water again. Even though my stroke needs help, I can’t seem to keep my head down and my hips up, and I had to split my lane with an old man who swam something that sort of looked like vertical breaststroke, I haven’t felt this good in a while. I was scrolling through Facebook and on my news feed, a few of my friends had shared the recently released Under Armour ad featuring Michael Phelps. It shows the most grueling, painful and heartbreaking moments swimmers face. It shows what it takes. I suggest you watch it in full screen. Right now.

The featured image and photo attached below was taken on, easily, the proudest day of my life. Here’s to those moments, whenever they may be, and no matter what, ruling your past, your future, and yourself.

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]]>https://shakeatower.wordpress.com/2016/03/08/swimmer-swammer-swimmer/feed/1IMG_5810carmenvajgrt8IMG_5810they, the wholeheartedhttps://shakeatower.wordpress.com/2016/01/31/they-the-wholehearted/
https://shakeatower.wordpress.com/2016/01/31/they-the-wholehearted/#commentsMon, 01 Feb 2016 00:53:55 +0000http://shakeatower.wordpress.com/?p=597Read More]]>I recently watched a TED Talk and it might have been the best one I have ever seen. And if you think I’m overexaggerating, I looked it up and, this TED Talk is one of the top five most viewed Talks in the world.

Brené Brown is a researcher and storyteller. She has dedicated the last 13 years of her life to researching vulnerability, courage, worthiness and shame. You may be wondering how someone studies these human emotions and perceptions of oneself. But Brown said it best when she said, “Stories are just data with a soul.”

When we think about the word ‘vulnerable,’ we synonymize it with words such as weak or defenseless, even naked. But when I think about the word ‘vulnerable,’ I think of strength and courage, compassion and connection.

Warning, this is my attempt to philosophize over different ideas so bear with me and ask questions if need be.

We are hard-wired to struggle. We are destined to fail and seek do-overs and grow. Yet, society has taken desperate measures to strip away this humanity and label it with shame. Society has told us to be perfect the first time, to hide our blemishes and pretend they were never there. Instead of allowing ourselves to connect with others over our imperfections, society has taught us to keep them in a dark closet of shame. Society has become a contradiction.

The Latin meaning for ‘soc’ translates to comrade or partner. The idea that society’s original meaning is contextualized with bringing people together as brothers and sisters is far from what it is considered today. Today, society often coincides with expectation, right and wrong ways of doing things or the allusive thing that determines what it takes to fit in. Society’s purpose is to bring individuals together, yes. But what we have come to think of as ‘together’ is what gives us the problems we face today.

We are not all the same. We, the human race, cannot fit into one, cohesive box of boy pegs and girl pegs. Because when we try to put everyone in a box, more times than not, people end up in a box alone.

The fear that showing the rest of the world who we really are we might place us in a lonely, empty box gives people reason to become something they are not. We turn from humans into masks. And then where do we find ourselves but alone.

So what keeps us from ending up alone?

Vulnerability, that scary word I mentioned above. Vulnerability gives us the permission to say no to the mask and yes to yourself.

But this is a hard concept. It takes courage and connection from others to encourage us and tell us it’s okay to be vulnerable, to be ourselves. This is what we’ve come to. The most depressed, addicted and obese generation is at dire straits.

At the end of her Talk, Brown talked about how we view our children when they are born. Instead of holding the perfect infant, seeing all of their successes in your mind and wishing for them to be perfect, we acknowledge their imperfections. We note they’re wired for struggle, and that we will love them anyways. We will accept them as they are, they won’t be forced into a box. That they are enough.

She asked the crowd to imagine a world where we have a generation of children raised like that.

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]]>https://shakeatower.wordpress.com/2016/01/31/they-the-wholehearted/feed/1FullSizeRendercarmenvajgrt8thanks for the inkhttps://shakeatower.wordpress.com/2016/01/24/thanks-for-the-ink/
https://shakeatower.wordpress.com/2016/01/24/thanks-for-the-ink/#commentsSun, 24 Jan 2016 21:09:10 +0000http://shakeatower.wordpress.com/?p=547Read More]]>If I am being honest with you, reader, I have been dealing with something I haven’t been able to put into words. Until this afternoon, I hadn’t been able to get the words to roll off my tongue, or through my fingers onto my computer screen.

I am afraid of death.

Death is something I have experienced a lot of. And although I have found peace in knowing that my loved and lost ones are now dancing in the arms of my Lord, something kept eating away at the back of my heart.

I want to start out with a story. Above is one of my best friends, Addy. She is beautiful and kind and smart and daring. When she sent me a picture of her most recent tattoo a few months ago, I was horrified. The large bee she placed on her forearm was a tattoo she hadn’t told me she was planning on getting and at first, I had no idea what it meant.

“A dad and his son are driving in a car when the son starts freaking out and screaming because there is a bee in the car and he is deathly allergic to the bee. The dad reaches up and grabs the bee, and then lets it go. The son starts screaming again and the dad holds up his hand to show his son the stinger in it. The dad says, ‘Son, there is no reason for you to be afraid anymore. It is just like how Christ took the sting of death for us, and there is no reason for us to be afraid of dying because we as believers get to spend eternity with Him.'”

My relationship with Jesus has been something I continue to work on. It is something I haven’t found very easy. Vices keep me from Him. They weaken my relationship with Him and although I believe in Him wholeheartedly and find my strength in Him, the fear that I do not believe “enough” or love “enough” puts the fear of God into me.

And then I started meditating on that saying; “the fear of God.” I asked myself what that really meant. Because I don’t believe in a fearful God. I believe in a just, loving, fair God who governs over his people with Grace and forgiveness.

It hit me that it isn’t God that I am afraid of. It is the absence of God that terrifies me.

The losses I have experienced and remember vividly have been abrupt. They have been unexpected, confusing and they have seemed wrong. They haven’t seemed just or loving or fair. And I can’t even begin to pretend like I know why those people were taken. For their protection or to save another life? Were they to bring people to Christ or to warn others that each day isn’t promised to any of us? Maybe. I don’t know. Maybe.

These losses are something I have written about many times and have impacted me more than I probably realize even now. But I don’t think God intended me, or any of us, to spark doubt in Him as a result. I do believe our individual vices make it easy to confuse these kinds of losses and turn them into doubt.

God is not fearful. Death is not fearful. It is the things that keep Him from us that evoke the fear. And that’s what we must struggle with and commit to battle.

Here’s to the bees.

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]]>https://shakeatower.wordpress.com/2016/01/24/thanks-for-the-ink/feed/2IMG_3275_Fotorcarmenvajgrt8IMG_3275_Fotoryes, that is, in fact, mehttps://shakeatower.wordpress.com/2015/11/17/yes-that-is-in-fact-me/
https://shakeatower.wordpress.com/2015/11/17/yes-that-is-in-fact-me/#commentsTue, 17 Nov 2015 23:41:37 +0000http://shakeatower.wordpress.com/?p=461Read More]]>If you watched Fox News or The O’Reilly Factor Monday night, or if you have gone onto Total Frat Move’s website recently, you more than likely saw my face.

Carmen Vajgrt.

I was interviewed last week by Jesse Watters, a reporter for Fox News, for his segment Watters World, which airs during Bill O’Reilly’s show. At first, I had no clue who Watters was but as the interview went on, I could tell he was trying to trip me up. He skirted around the actual issues that Mizzou had been facing in recent weeks. He focused on what had been misconstrued by national media and tried to get me to get lost in his long, overly-worded questions and say something stupid. I also noticed that his cameraman had placed me facing the sun although, take two steps back and I would be shaded by a tree.

I walked away knowing I hadn’t said anything wrong, yet regretting going through with the interview. You see, I was worried he would edit my responses or take me completely out of context. I was not only worried for my own reputation but my reputation as an aspiring journalist.

When the show aired this past Monday night, friends of mine began texting me to let me know they had just seen me on national television. My first reaction was, “Did he make me look stupid?” To which my friend replied, “They had you looking confused. You didn’t respond.” *hence the whole looking into the sun tactic.

At first, I was relieved. Watters hadn’t taken anything I’d said and pulled it out of context, I hadn’t said anything wrong and I wasn’t misinformed. They showed me once. I gave Watters nothing substantial to work with. I returned home and watched the clip of myself and then tweeted what’s shown below.

I felt a small victory.

This morning, my interview clip had become the thumbnail on TotalFratMove.com. This site made the video go viral and I had friends from all over texting me to tell me I was famous. More people seemed to have seen the video from this website than on national television.

Here’s what I found interesting:

Although the 5-minute, 12-second clip showed me for a total of 10 seconds, TFM chose to use a screenshot from my interview as the thumbnail for the article.

The attractive white girl or, more commonly referred to as “Nike sweatshirt.”

Comment sections are a dangerous territory and it’s where I found degrading comments about my appearance and how attractive I am. And while some girls would be proud to turn guys on wearing an ex-boyfriend’s sweatshirt and no make-up, I found it a little concerning that the majority of comments on the video revolved around my 10 seconds of fame.

And all I had to say was, “…yeah?”

Forget about the rest of the 15-minute interview where I had an answer for every one of Watters’s questions.

Intelligent answers.

But Watters couldn’t air any of that because the whole point of him coming to our campus was to ensure that the rest of the United States would think my beloved University was overrun by pissed off college students who didn’t really know what they were talking about.

He didn’t air those parts of my interview because our society does not only suffer from racism but sexism. Where intelligent women are hardly shown on air, even though some will spend 15 minutes of their day trying to prove a “tall, athletic, smart and rich” white man that they have a voice and actual thoughts that run through their pretty brains.

I don’t know what kinds of answers the other students gave that didn’t make it onto the nightly news. I don’t know how many intelligent things Watters and his crew cut out, but I do know this:

The attractive white girl in the Nike sweatshirt is intelligent and well-spoken.

That’s who I am.

Can you imagine what the comments section would read if the viewers knew that?

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]]>https://shakeatower.wordpress.com/2015/11/17/yes-that-is-in-fact-me/feed/6Screen Shot 2015-11-17 at 5.32.02 PMcarmenvajgrt8Screen Shot 2015-11-17 at 5.36.29 PMhave we forgottenhttps://shakeatower.wordpress.com/2015/09/28/have-we-forgotten/
https://shakeatower.wordpress.com/2015/09/28/have-we-forgotten/#respondTue, 29 Sep 2015 03:37:06 +0000http://shakeatower.wordpress.com/?p=432Read More]]>A while back, I wrote about the beauty of free speech. It is something that we, as Americans, take advantage of every day. And if you have read any of my posts, I have never shied away from the fact that my faith is very important to me. My views on life and on those around me, and really the entire human race as a whole, are guided by my morals and what I believe is the root of Christianity.

Love.

Christianity revolves around love. God sent His one and only Son to die. To die. For us. For each and every one of us, knowing that the majority of us would reject Him anyways. In my opinion, many of us reject Him because it seems unfathomable for us to wrap our minds around that kind of endless love. The Bible refers to it as “agape” love. Eternal and selfless.

Yet, history is full of Christians who are full of hate. Millions of Catholics and Protestants alike conquering peoples with violence, preaching nothing about love and only acting on hypocrisies.

Which is what I saw today.

The University of Missouri’s Speaker’s Circle is known as one of the few places on campus that the allows demonstrations of any kind, at any time of the day. And it’s a great place. Free food handed out by organizations daily and debates occur almost weekly. My previous post showed nothing but support for an expression of opposing views. I strongly believe that we become actual people by learning from others who challenge our beliefs and outlooks.

But today, I approached Speaker’s to find a huge crowd. I knew that a man had been preaching there earlier in the afternoon so I figured he had drawn a crowd of opinionated college students like most speakers do. I was right. He had drawn a crowd. And as I listened to what the man yelled at the crowd, I truly understood why much of society has turned its back on Christianity. I saw first hand the spew of hate this man was apparently professing as commands from the Bible and his supposed interpretation of God’s opinion of His creation.

I heard him call the women who were questioning him whores and sluts, condemning them to the flames of hell. And then one girl came forward, enraged, with every right to be, telling him that he was exactly why people hated Christians. That she was Christian herself and that she was disgusted by him.

Many would call this man a “radical Christian.” He was anything but that.

I looked up the definition of a radical Christian and clicking on UrbanDictionary, I half expected a definition slamming my faith. What I found instead was beautiful and true, and I want to attach the entire definition because I truly believe it’s worth reading.

“Real Radical Christians Love, Christ is in them and their very life, words and actions reflect the Love of Christ for people. They are the ones you can call in the middle of the night, and talk to. They will still Love you when no one else does. Why? Because they know Christ, and met and meet with Him everyday. Christ’s Love has captured their heart, they cannot help but Love. They cannot help but to help you, they cannot help but to take care of you, they cannot help but to bless you, they cannot help but to love you. It’s more than’ good ole Southern Hospitality’ too… It’s real.

They don’t throw the bible in your face… They are like ‘little Jesuses’ on earth. They are shinning lights on a hill that cannot be hidden. They aren’t self-promoting, God promotes them involuntarily. God’s light shines through them, you never want to leave their presence… You don’t want to leave the peace, hope, joy, and love that surround them. What they have is intoxicating, not toxic.

They are what Jesus was, but they will be straight forward with you as Christ was. They want others to know the complete awe inspiring Love they know. A love greater than the Love they have with their spouses and children, while those loves are still great to them. But a Love that has Radically changed their life, and they voluntarily accepted that Love at whatever the cost because it was the first real thing they have ever encountered in their whole life.”

There isn’t much else to say.

I guess my only hopes are that Christians will finally see this. That if you, reading this, are a Christian, or if you’re just anyone else, will someday know what a real radical Christian is. And that you strive to be one.

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]]>https://shakeatower.wordpress.com/2015/09/28/have-we-forgotten/feed/0PicsArtcarmenvajgrt8my attempt to novel: Chapter 1 Part 1https://shakeatower.wordpress.com/2015/09/20/my-attempt-to-novel-chapter-1-part-1/
https://shakeatower.wordpress.com/2015/09/20/my-attempt-to-novel-chapter-1-part-1/#respondMon, 21 Sep 2015 04:39:47 +0000http://shakeatower.wordpress.com/?p=404Read More]]>Growing up, she never doubted herself. Choices came and went without hesitation and decisions came naturally to her. When that all changed was uncertain, but what was certain was that the strong and confident girl had since been buried under a heavy pile of desperate attempts to grasp on to any control she hadn’t lost already.

No longer did she feel as though the choices she’d been making were the right ones. Or rather, the belief that destiny would put her back on the right track should she go awry had disappeared. That hope was gone. Diminished by those who had made her feel as though she was nothing, only worth the five minutes of her time she’d give them and nothing more.

How she longed to take over her life once again. To have the kind of control she’d once took for granted. You see, Charlotte was what every adult had told her she would be since she was nine. She was beautiful. An all-American, midwestern girl from a town that no one had ever heard of, nor left once they had. Raised in a typical loving household full of laughter and joy. Memories flashed blush pink walls, white lace curtains and a mirror which sat atop a white wooden desk. She hadn’t entered her childhood room in years, though now she sat on the plush stool next to the desk, staring into the old mirror, a stranger staring back.

The mirror was rather large, oval and vintage. Now that she thought about it, too huge for a young girl to look into every day. Its outer rim was wrapped in beautiful, intricately welded designs. Ornate flowers that turned into never-ending spirals, turning back into flowers once again. She picked up the brush that sat next to the mirror. No dust had gathered on top of the bristles, which was a sign that her mother frequented her room often. Charlotte began to brush through her long, almond colored hair. Smooth and untangled, the mid-day sun glistened off the long, thin strands.

What he had said to her repeated over and over again in her mind. What do you think this is? She must have thought it a thousand times by now, his voice forever ingrained into her subconscious. She could hear him even without drawing up the memory of that night. His breath warm against her cheek. Towering over her, looking down on her. What do you think this is? As if he could only value what her body could give to him in that moment.

Though the anger welled up inside of her, she did nothing but surrender to his wants.

And she hated herself for it.

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]]>https://shakeatower.wordpress.com/2015/09/20/my-attempt-to-novel-chapter-1-part-1/feed/0carmenvajgrt8the mother in a womanhttps://shakeatower.wordpress.com/2015/08/04/themotherinawoman/
https://shakeatower.wordpress.com/2015/08/04/themotherinawoman/#commentsTue, 04 Aug 2015 23:48:53 +0000http://shakeatower.wordpress.com/?p=349Read More]]>I was about 16 and understood nothing that came out of my mom’s mouth. It was all unreasonable and biased and unfair. She wouldn’t let me go to a bonfire with my boyfriend at the time and I yelled at her and had so much anger towards her for it. I don’t remember exactly what I said but I do remember standing on the steps of the stairs spewing hate. I got over her decision to keep me home but I never got over how I treated her that night.

If I could take back all of the hurt I caused her, my beloved mother, I would have taken it back a thousand and one times.

They’re funny things – moms. They know you better than you think they know you and very often, they know you better than you know yourself. They know what you need and they take the brunt of your emotions while you realize it.

I recently had a conversation with my mom that really altered my view on who my mother is. She listened to me cry and she told me I had to figure it out and she told me that I could do it on my own. Now you might read that sentence and think she was giving me a dose of tough love but it was the most caring statement I have ever heard.

You’re going to have to do this on your own.

In one of my weakest moments she reminded me of how strong I am. How strong she made me.